You’re so awesome; are you sure you’re not a fictional character?
This is the most common question I get asked. I know, I exude awesomeness. And it seems like that sort of awesomeness couldn’t exist in the real world. But it does.
Okay, maybe people never point out my awesomeness or speculate on my realness. They ask about the pen name which is a fiction. Same difference, eh? Besides perceived reality is just a hallucination of the brain so what is real at all anyway? And writers, well, we just think a lot more about alternate realities.
But art reflects reality. So, of course, I have some things in common with a fictional person.
How to tell I am very much like a fictional character
I have a painful backstory that haunts me.
I think we all have some sort of painful backstory. A real painful part in my past was when I was five (give or take a year or so). It was my brother’s 7th (give or take a year or so) birthday party. My birthday is in April. His is in May. We were on the couch and he was opening his presents. But I didn’t get any presents. I cried. And to this day I wonder why I never got a present on my brother’s birthday.
I have at least one enemy I am completely oblivious to.
I mean, I am sure I do. I think there is an antagonist to every story. Although my antagonist might be the angst of existence and my extended existential crisis.
The plotline of my life is complicated, unpredictable, and it seems to be really unlucky.
Like, statistically unlikely to be real, unlucky. Like I have fallen down the stairs more than once. And I have also fallen going up the stairs. I stepped on my own foot. In the sense that my foot folded in half, and I stepped on it. (To explain this I should also point out I am really double-jointed). Massively severe sprain that led to being on crutches for some time. But not a bone broken because of the flexibility in my feet (wait, does that mean I was lucky? Maybe half-assed luck?)
I have faults that seem to compromise the plot in various ways.
My fear of success. And fear of failure. This seems to put me in a bit of spot, eh?
I have odd quirks.
Like my weird distaste for mirrors. I mean, I get why you need one in the bathroom. But I adamantly disagree that they should be anywhere else. Okay, in a car. Yeah. But nowhere else. I think someone is going to likely mention some other practical use for a mirror. I’ll grant you that point, whatever it is. So let’s just say nowhere else in the house.
I have several defining nuances.
My giggle is distinct. People will literally come of the woodwork because they here my giggle and know it is me. I call it a feminine chuckle. But then I heard it on a recording and was forced to admit it was distinctly giggly. This is quite an insult to my sense of self, by the way. You know how hard it is to say something sarcastic if you giggle after? And I have a broad and varied sense of humor. So I laugh. A lot.
I have done unbelievable things
I once was leaving the house to go to work. I locked the doorknob (Not the deadbolt). I got into my car. And then I realized I have no keys. I looked for the keys. No keys. I had locked myself out of the house and was unable to get to work. I had to call my boyfriend to drive back from the city, as he was at work, to let me in. My workplace had a good chuckle about this. I have also run completely out of gas a few times. Or do that coast into the gas station on fumes. I have to admit I have a level of absentmindedness that is astonishingly unrealistic. I have thought of adapting to this problem with a thousand sticky notes. But from experience I am very aware written reminders and lists do not work. I simply forget they exist. And I forget that I can use my phone for reminders. I also think I need a pre-reminder to my actual reminder.
Ways I am not like a fictional character
This plot is extremely mundane. Let’s fast forward to the interesting parts. Wait a minute, I didn’t mean ‘interesting’ in a bad way. What the actual hell?
Nothing ever gets resolved. Partly this is due to some pretty extreme procrastination issues and the remainder is life is clearly about jumping from one extended issue to another in a train wreck of issues.
From my vast experience of only really reading fantasy… I have yet to own or see a dragon. This has been a constant disappointment to me.
I have chronic pain which is chronic sucky but no miraculous cure. Granted, some books are about that. But I think they exclude the minutia of the issue. I gotta say the suck of chronic illness makes for a lot of blah.
Also, my life isn’t being threatened by my ominous enemy. Although, if it was, I am sure I would remain oblivious and my last words would be ‘what the hell, man.’
But I am real and a fictional character is not… but that is exactly what a fictional character would say.
The inspiration for this weird post came from someone on twitter saying that a lot of people who protest the irrational regulations on opiates for the treatment of chronic severe pain… are bots. Literally the only time I have been accused of being a bot. I like to think I am more advanced that a bot. Maybe. Sometimes. Because apparently it is inconceivable that actual treatment of extreme suffering is something you would be for when you are suffering extremely and are not an addict (which apparently everyone is. Because that makes sense). I was like… huh. Am I a bot? How would I even know? I think I would know because a bot (or robot even. Or AI) cannot feel pain. And it would be morally wrong to create one that did. And mean. Also very mean. And when I make my robot body to replace this malfunctioning one, I assure you it will only feel normal sensations. And it will also be a smidge taller. And maybe a cupholder on there as well.
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